


A Gift Gone Wrong

by fickle_fics



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cardinal brings his mistress a gift.</p><p>From there it all goes decidedly odd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift Gone Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly a bit too ofc heavy. Sorry about that.

“I brought you a present, my love,” the Cardinal says as he steps into her bedchamber, producing a wine bottle from inside his cloak.

“I’ll fetch glasses, I assume you’re staying?”

“Perhaps a while.” He watches as she exits, listens to the sound of her bare feet dull on the wooden steps, the sound of her clattering about in the parlour, finding glasses. When she returns with two of them and a corkscrew he hasn’t even moved, just stayed standing in her room, waiting for her return.

She hands over the corkscrew, one glass in each hand, as he uncorks it, holding out each glass as he fills them half way.

“A toast. To us.”

She raises her glass, brings it to her lips, then pauses, watching him, the glass still at his chest in his hand. “Gentlemen first.”

“Do you not trust me, my love?” he asks curiously, eyes following her glass as she lowers it.

“I trust you, Armand. It’s just that I also know you do what you have to, and I know of your methods. No knives or guns for you, my love. You’re a poisoner, so much harder to find the cause of death with poison, isn’t it?” She smiles fondly, proud of his cunning, “So, will you drink?”

“You watched me uncork the bottle,” he points out, trying not to lose his patience with her.

“I think it’s best not to underestimate people that can kill you. You could have a vintner on your books. The poison could have been in the bottle the whole time.”

He brings the glass to his lips, sipping it at first then taking a larger drink, aware of her eyes on him. “Happy?”

She smiles, sips her own wine and takes a step closer to him. “Very much so.”

“I could have taken an antidote,” he points out. “I could have foreseen this. You know me so very well, after all.”

She frowns at that, annoyed with herself for missing such a possibility.

“It’s a gift. I thought you’d enjoy it. I didn’t come here to kill you, but should I take your sudden paranoia as an admission of guilt?” He takes another sip, eyes locked on her, watching her body language, half expecting her to run.

“I remain as loyal to you as ever,” she assures him, another step closer as she lays her hand on his cheek, cool and soothing. 

“So why the worry that I came here to dispose of you?”

She turns away. Perhaps she is being paranoid. “I’m aware my position as your mistress, while offering a certain power also puts me in a vulnerable position.”

“How so?” His voice is close behind her, closer than she expected, calm as always, and he reaches for her arm, hand gripping it lightly.

“As I say there’s a power in sharing a bed with the most powerful man in France. A certain security, or so most would think. It’s a position I’m sure many of your…women would like for themselves.”

“You think they’d try to depose you?” he asks, stepping in front of her, hand still gripping her arm.

“You’ve trained a number of truly ambitious women, my love. We’re dangerous creatures. And we all know you‘d replace me, pay for another house perhaps, but I‘m under no illusions that you‘d mourn me.”

His lip twitches, grey moustache quivering for just a second before he’s back to his normal, inscrutable expression. She isn’t wrong, not on all counts. Of course he’d replace her, what else is he to do? But he would mourn her, he would feel terrible about if he had to have her killed, he truly would.

She smiles and kisses him tenderly. “Will you just do me one favour?”

“Of course.”

“If it comes to it, if someone lies about my devotion to you, to our country. If you believe them. Don’t do it like this. I want to know about it, I want to have my say.”

“This is an impressive double bluff, my love,” he says, almost impressed.

“If I was disloyal I hope you’d want more proof than gossip but…” she trails off, shrugging. “I know you distrust everyone, which is why I want to ask this of you now, while you might agree to my request.”

“Go on,” he presses, another drink, his wine glass now almost empty. It really had been a present, the start of what he’d hoped would be an enjoyable, maybe even relaxing evening. Quite how they’re having this conversation is slightly beyond him.

“That’s it. I just want notice. I want to know it’s coming. I want to have time to say things.”

“To beg for mercy?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

She laughs at that - Armand Richelieu showing mercy? Does he really think her so naïve? 

“To speak with you, one last time. To assure you that I understand, that I love you. And that I’ll wait on the other side. For your apology.”

“My love.” He still doesn’t completely trust her, he could never do that or he’ll become weak, but he knows better than to listen to gossip, she’s right. If he thought she was betraying him he’d follow her, made sure he saw for himself. He wouldn’t kill her over what could be lies, he isn’t quite so ruthless regardless of what people may think.

“I just wanted to make sure you’d let me have my goodbye, if it ever came to it.”

The thought breaks his cold, hard heart, the idea of her betraying him, of him having to do as he’s done before. But if it happens he’ll have no choice and the fact she knows that, accepts it, is really quite something.

“Very well. If I have to…deal with you I’ll let you know it’s coming, but it you run…” He can’r let himself seem weak, trusting or she’ll take advantage and he isn’t willing to let that happen.

“I’ll be shot in the back by one of your guards?” she offers. She isn’t a fool, she knows what faces her if she betrays him.

“You’re very smart, aren’t you?” he asks, an almost smile on his face. He will not think about her betraying him, he will not ruin his evening despite her accusing him of trying to kill her.

“Perhaps. Aren’t you glad I’m on your side?”

“Every night,” he admits, words barely above a whisper, as if he can hardly manage to say them out loud. He drains his wine, reaches around her to place it on the table behind them and straightens though he stays very close to her, close enough to smell the wine on her breath, the heat of her body beneath her clothes. 

“And just so you’re aware, you won’t be so easily replaced as you seem to believe.” He slips his arm around her waist, breaths in her scent long and deep, and somehow manages to keep his groan to himself. “So don’t betray me. Killing you would cause me great pain.”


End file.
